My silly baaaabyyyy

Our Story

Robert and I met online (ugh, I hate telling people that, but there it is) in September of 2006. I was teaching in Arizona and had just gotten out of a very strange relationship, the details of which no one needs to know but yours truly. After what I had been through, I was in no way ready to jump in to the dating pool again. My job at the time was high-stress, and I was doing a lot of extra activities to help out. I didn't have time to go out and meet people, and I'm not into clubs. So in the few minutes I had at the end of the day to decompress, I spent time on a Christian dating site. (This was in the days before Facebook took over the world. Undoubtedly, I would have been on FB if I'd known how excellent a waste of time it was.) 
One evening, just after I had returned from a weekend trip with the student leadership to Northern California, I popped online to see if there was anyone new to chat with. I didn't have any new "matches" so I was about to sign off, when I got a message. This guy's picture was ... Well, let's just say he looks much better with a haircut ... and smiling ... and in person. Fine, new friend, but DEFINITELY NOT Mr Right. He was friendly, seemed like a good person, but I told him up front that we wouldn't date. I was too young, too tall, and I did not speak Spanish, all his own specifications for Ms Right. He asked if he could call me. No, I said, but we could be friends, and I gave him my username for another chat service.

We talked online every evening. We discussed church, family, careers, past relationships, friends, and finally, after almost a month, I gave him my phone number. The first time he called, I stared at my ringing phone with sweaty palms, and I just couldn't answer it. What if he's crazy? What if he's scamming me? What if he has a weird voice? He left a message. I listened. He sounded normal. I texted him some lie about being busy, and could I call him tomorrow? So, we talked. And ten-minute conversations turned in to hour-long conversations. One night, after attending a family funeral, we talked for eight hours. That conversation could have been the end of it based on confessions we made to each other. Either one of us could have called it off. There were tears shed, apologies made, but instead we chose to let that conversation solidify our commitment. We would meet, and maybe we would fall in love.

So meet we did. I flew to Burbank one Friday afternoon in mid-December. I was nervous. He was late. He drove a Lexus. He brought me flowers. I was shaking. He kissed me. He was good-looking. We held sweaty hands in the car. We went to Trader Joe's to buy food. He took me to his house. He showed me the back yard. He kissed me again. And KISSED me. Whoa.

We went to dinner at a fantastic Italian restaurant in Glendale and ate the most delicious pizza I've ever had. Then he drove me to Malibu. The Christmas lights were all up, and I don't remember seeing any of them. We stood out on a beach in the frigid December wind and listened to the waves. Then he asked me to drive the brand new Lexus back to Glendale. He said I looked cute driving, all alert and wide-eyed, white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. (Normally, in my own car, I'd be steering with my knees while fixing my hair or eating a giant burrito. It's just, it's a Lexus, man!) We went to church the next morning, and neither of us remember what the sermon was about. We spent the rest of the weekend exploring Glendale, hiking, and eating. A lot.

I came back to visit twice after that. The last weekend in January, I auditioned for a Master's program in trumpet performance in Irvine. It went well, and we looked forward to living in the same city. We talked about where I would live, and I suggested asking my uncle to put me up while I looked for an apartment. He suggested that we should just get married. (Insert vinyl record screech here.) Um, okay? I bought a bridal magazine in the airport on the way home.

The next few weeks were crazy busy for me work-wise. Robert and I were already thinking and planning for a wedding, but he suddenly realized out loud while we were talking one day that he hadn't even asked me properly. My response: "I know, you'd better get on that." He emailed me the next day to ask for my address so he could send me a gift for Valentine's Day. I was scheduled to fly out to Burbank on the 15th of February since our school had a long weekend break. I mentally prepared for a proposal on the 15th or shortly after.

Fast forward to Monday, February 12. I was feeling down that we would spend Valentine's Day apart, and he reminded me that I had a surprise coming. I asked when it was coming, why it hadn't come yet. He said Tuesday, or Wednesday, or both. I thought, well, he's sending two gifts! On Tuesday, the school I worked for had an all-day assembly to celebrate Valentine's Day. We played games, sang songs, watched a video, I don't remember what all we did, but since I wasn't throwing myself in to teaching, I spent the whole day running to the office and checking my mail box. (I worked at a boarding school and lived on campus, so all of our mail came to the main office.) At 5:00, I gave up and went home. Robert called me early that day and said he couldn't talk because he was going to a concert with friends. He sounded weird, and I could tell he was feeling guilty about something. I asked him who he was going with, and he told me a bunch of people from his work. He said he'd be home by 10:30 and he would call me then. Okay, tell me that you wouldn't be suspicious if your boyfriend was obviously lying. Robert says I cheapen the relationship and the story when I say that, but hey, I just tell it how it is. I went to sleep depressed and convinced that he was having second thoughts about our future together. At 1:40 am Wednesday, I woke up to my ringing phone. 1:40?!? Yeah, he's definitely having second thoughts. Great. He said "Hey baby, I just got home and it's super late, but I wanted to tell you I love you. I hope you like the surprise, but don't be too surprised." And we said goodnight, and I didn't go back to sleep for a good half hour. I thought, Wow, he bought me a laptop or something.

Next morning, Valentine's Day, aka Singles Awareness Day, one of my students came in to band with a bad attitude about how much she hated V-Day, aka SAD. Lol, that abbreviation is somehow so appropriate. Anyway, I told this student that V-Day wasn't all it was cracked up to be for us couples either. To cheer myself up, I pulled out a brand new piece for the kids to sightread (yes, I am a nerd and I get my kicks from forcing my students to coordinate their brains, their fingers, and their lungs at 7:00 in the morning ... Sad, sad, SAD). In the middle of the piece I was getting all crazy-eyed and yelling out cues and flailing my arms, and unfortunately probably showering my flutes and oboes with excitement drool (I wouldn't be a music teacher if I didn't get the license to anoint my young musicians once in a while), when the Senior Class President walked in with a camera, followed by the Business Manager with a camera (neither of which played in the band), and I just kept up the crazy while my trumpets cracked notes right and left. Then I heard a voice. A strangely familiar voice, but a voice which I was certain did NOT belong in Arizona, let alone my band room at 7:15 on a Wednesday morning, said "I have a flower delivery for Miss McGuire." The band stopped. A couple of students let out romantical swooning sighs, and let me tell you, I was the last person in the room to even see him. But there he was, looking hotter than I ever could have imagined in jeans and a sport coat, holding two arms full of roses. A million things went through my head at that moment, ridiculous things like "Did I do my makeup this morning?" "Why did I wear these heels today?" "Are my teeth even clean?" Oh yeah, and "How did he get HERE?" He walked down to my little platform while a saxophonist serenaded us with "Here Comes the Bride." I freaked at this point and started hyperventilating. He hugged and kissed me, and said some really beautiful things which I don't remember and which made me want to cry (but I was shaking so hard the tears just wouldn't come), and then he got down on one knee (Ack!) and said it. It was surreal. I knew the words were coming, but they still knocked me senseless for a moment or two, and I couldn't say anything. I kept thinking I had said yes, but he still was kneeling there with the ring, ready to slip it on my finger and smiling. I suppose I finally gasped out something resembling a yes, because my students were suddenly clapping and cheering. My boss gave me the rest of the day off, and we spent it together, he blissfully happy and I, dazzled, in a haze of happy confusion.

So, we met in September, saw each other in December, were engaged in February, and married in September. Fast much? Indeed. Four years later we got pregnant, and now we are a family of three (four including the dog).

And now, for the other side of the story, as explained by Robert. When he realized out loud that he hadn't proposed, he had the idea right then and there. He emailed me for my address the next day so he could make the proper arrangements. The first thing he did was to call not my father, but my principal, for permission to propose. He then ordered airline tickets ($69 one way Burbank to Phoenix ... Southwest, we luv u), reserved a rental car and a hotel room. He gave me many subtle hints about it, none of which I understood (not too smart, this one). By the time it came around to time to leave, he was sure I knew all about it. Apparently a testament to my dim-wittedness. When he told me about the concert, he was on his way to the airport with his BFF, Alvin, who ended up being our best man, with 3 dozen roses and an engraved ring. They got there late, though (he blamed traffic, I blame his inability to be on time to ANYTHING) and Robert missed his flight. There was a later flight, but by the time he made it to Phoenix, the rental car company wasn't sending shuttles, so he had to wait almost an hour before they managed to pick him up. He drove to his hotel which was all locked up for the night, the night manager nowhere within earshot of Robert's inconvenienced, then annoyed, then frantic knocks on the door. Finally, at 1:40, he got to his room. He called me, and was so worried I would faint when I saw him that he told me not to be too surprised. Yeah, that worked ... Not at all. I'm not a fainter, but if I was, I would have been a lifeless lump by the time he made it to my podium. And there I was, little material girl me, thinking he had bought me some shiny expensive yummy toy that required multiple shipments.

So how did that whole "internet dating" thing work out for ya', you ask? Well, if I had to do it over again (God forbid ... Learning to live with one man was enough education to last me a lifetime, thank you very much), I would take more time getting to the whole marriage part. I never did escape the feeling of being rushed in to wedded bliss, but I really don't think we could have managed to wait any longer, me not having a place to live and all that. But even though it's been tough, and rocky, and pretty messed up at times, the good always outweighs the bad. God can fix any situation. And he's had a lot of fixin' to do here in the Gomez household.

So that's our story and we're stickin' to it.

By the way, that amazing pizza restaurant? We had our rehearsal dinner there, and two days later, on our wedding day, they closed their doors, never to reopen.

About

So what's it all about? What am I all about? Why am I doing this? I want to write. I love writing. Well, I guess I should say I love having written. The process of writing brings out my natural lazy side ... I'd rather be eating cookies or reading or drinking a nice cup of tea, to be perfectly honest. But, here's this blog, and here are all these ideas swimming in my head needing a place to jump the dam.

I'm a 31-year-old mommy to a squishy-sweet 9-month-old beauty. Her daddy's name is Robert ... Good, strong rock of a name for the man who keeps me clear, positive, and focused. READ: The man tolerates no foolishness. This incites great mental gymnastics for me because I am extremely prone to foolishness, of the drama queen, slam-the-door-in-your-face-because-your-opinion-differs-from-mine variety. So he tries really hard to be patient with me. And I try really hard to keep my head from exploding. My darling baby inspires me to be a better wife, mom, citizen, human. I stay home with her and my cockapoo, Pippin. My days are always full of excitement ... cleaning, cooking, laundry, eating, sleeping, breathing ... I love it. My only responsibilities are to keep the house clean and the baby happy and healthy.

I grew up in Colorado, lived there until I went off to college, and proudly root for all the sports teams. I'd like to live there again someday and I'd like for my kid(s) to call it home. I graduated from Green Mountain High School in Lakewood. I played baritone then trumpet in the marching band, pep band, concert band, and pit orchestra, sang soprano in four different choirs, played viola in the string orchestra ... I also attended other classes and occasionally did homework.

I ended up at Union College in Lincoln, Nebraska, by the grace of God. I'll post that story one of these days. I earned a Bachelor of Arts in Music. Those four years solidified my commitment to live my life in service to Christ. The spiritual culture there was incredible. I loved my professors, my classes, my fellow students. The school song starts out "I wanna go back to Union again," and it's so true.

After college, I planned to go right back to school to earn my Master's Degree, but out of sheer mental and physical exhaustion, I needed to take a year off before I plunged back in to the books. I volunteered as a task force music teacher in Paradise, California. Ah, Paradise, what a great place to relax. Well, that one year off turned in to three years off when I got a job at Thunderbird Academy in Phoenix. And then I got married and couldn't afford grad school without establishing my California residency, so I took a part time job at Glendale Academy. And in my fifth year of teaching at Glendale, I got pregnant and decided to be a SAHM. So here I am, eight years of teaching under my belt and no Master's Degree. And I've never been happier.

My daughter was born in April of 2012. My labor was amazing, delivery was a breeze, and the first three months were the most difficult of my life. I felt like I was watching my life from a theater box. I could not shake the fog of post-partum depression. Finally, when my daughter was almost seven months old, I told my husband that I needed help, or I was going to end up dead or in a mental hospital. I started seeing a counselor. She asked me to make a list of things that would make me happy. I couldn't think of a single thing. I mean, sure, I thought of things I wanted to do, but I knew that the only way I was going to be happy was if I decided to be happy. So one day, I told Robert I didn't want to fight with him anymore, and I started praying. It's been a little over a month, and we really have only argued once or twice. And that decision to be happy? The best decision I ever made.

And then, this blog. I had a lame blog once upon a time, but I hadn't updated it since I got engaged. Plus, I was stupid and young and ... Just, ugh. In high school, sophomore year was the year of the Big Chief. Everyone had to write at least 12 pages a week in these tablets, about anything we wanted, and at the end of the year we compiled them into a big notebook full of thoughts and stories. I remember how easy it was to fill those pages, how cathartic it was to write, and how rewarding it was to go back and see all I had written. Well, I guess this blog is my new Big Chief.

I hope you enjoy my random musings, I hope I can make you smile a little, I hope to inspire someone, maybe you, to write your own story and learn a little about yourself in the process.

Christmas 2012

This is our first Christmas as a family of three (four if you count Pippin). Somehow, this year hasn't quite felt like Christmas ... The decorations are up, the music is playing, the gifts are being given, but it just doesn't feel ... right. Admittedly, there have been a lot of changes this year. I'm not freaking out about four or five different concerts I have to put on, I'm not throwing mini-parties for students who already performed, I'm not baking up a storm (who has time?), and, of course, there's a tiny cuddle monster keeping me busy. For weeks I was trying to get into the Christmas Spirit, but just couldn't find it anywhere. Then, the other day, it hit me. I am perfectly content to spend Christmas in LA this year. I don't wish I was somewhere else. I don't even have that urge to drive to the mountains every time it rains, just in case it might be snowing. I don't want to say that I don't miss my family, but, well ... I don't. At least not as much as I have in past Christmases. That nostalgia for "a quiet Christmas morning in the Colorado snow" just isn't there. Is it that my post-partum depression has turned off my ability to feel anything? Or is it just that I'm finally learning the secret to being content wherever I am? I'm inclined to believe the latter, and I feel like anywhere my husband and daughter are is home to me now. Those heart-rending songs that have led me down the path of Holiday blues in the years since I left home haven't wrenched one tear from me this year. Don't get me wrong, I love my family dearly, and I still wish I could spend Christmas with my mom, dad, sister, and their respective families, but it's kinda nice to know that this is what Christmas will feel like from now on. Just the three (four) of us, hanging out and enjoying each other. Joy to the world and peace on earth, right?

PS. I'm terrified of ever spending Christmas away from my kid. Now I know how my parents feel when I don't come home. Sorry, guys. I love you!